


Double In Brass

by Willow Mae (NelwynP)



Series: Parasol-verse [1]
Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, One Shot, Steampunk, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2019-04-25 16:56:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14382972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NelwynP/pseuds/Willow%20Mae
Summary: Things are shaking up amongst the supernatural set in England, and nor in the usual manner. Roger Stonewall appoints himself to investigate the strange occurrences, but he has to play nice with the suspicious supernaturals to get the information he needs.*Set in the world of Gail Carriger's Parasol Protectorate, with only mention of PP characters and events.*





	Double In Brass

The Brighton chapter of the Bureau of Unnatural Registry wasn't even an actual office, but rather a rented house of Trafalgar Street. This generally suited the needs of those employed there since most of them kept nighttime hours, and having a few extra bedrooms upstairs was quite handy. The house was also quite close to the train station, so visiting officials would not have to navigate the crowded wharfs where most other businesses were located. Granted, visitors tended to be rare at most of the outlying chapters of BUR because most communication was not urgent enough to warrant more than sending weekly reports by mail back to London, but every now and again some critical business would crop up that would require agents to travel. In the business of dealing with both the supernatural set and the government, every convenience helped. 

The office might not have been nearly as well outfitted as BUR Headquarters in London, but it did have the common appropriate necessities. The coatroom sported an assortment of cloaks and secondhand clothing for visiting werewolves, the attic held the second most recent aethographic transmitter model, and there was even a ghost on retainer. It was also one of the larger chapters outside of London, with five full agents and a small network of on-call resources both human and supernatural alike. Roger Stonewall, lead agent in the office, was a man of formalities and order. He wore a nicely tailored waistcoat, tied an expert cravat, and though he was sure the premature silvering of his hair was a direct result of the stress of his job he wore it with dignity and a fashionable yet modest hat. He also made sure his agents received regular training, kept meticulous logs of every expense, and filed lengthy and detailed reports on every job. 

Most of the time he was quite proud of how smoothly he kept operations at the office, but for the past fortnight everything seemed to be going wrong. So it was that of all the things Roger took pride in about his office, at the moment he was mostly grateful for the well stocked pantry sporting an acceptable selection of meat cuts, biscuits, and tea.  

Tonight had featured an unscheduled forced exorcism, which had ended with Roger being covered in an unseemly mixture of ectoplasm and decomposing flesh. Upon noting his state, Pamela Dunworthy had promptly produced a fresh cup of Darjeeling and shooed him into the cloakroom to change into one of the spare outfits kept there for such purpose. 

Unfortunately, on the way back to the office from the exorcism Roger had taken to breathing through his mouth to try and compensate for the horrendous smell, which had seemingly sacrificed his tastebuds as a consequence. Bitterly he set the kindly offered tea on his desk, unable to find comfort in its taste when it was overlaid with the taste of death. Miss Dunworthy tutted sympathetically and prudently stepped out of the office while he changed.  

“I gather that the operation did not go as planned, sir.” Miss Dunworthy had returned ten minutes later with a fresh towel for his face and hair, which Roger accepted gratefully.  

There were those who still turned their noses at the notion of government hiring women but Roger held nothing but respect and admiration for Miss Dunworthy. She arranged her practical skirt around her as she sat in the chair across from his desk; tucked an imaginary strand of hair back into her large, dark, practical bun and adjusted her practical glasses on the bridge of her nose before reaching for a pen and paper.  

As Roger pulled excess bits of ectoplasm from his hair he mused that there was very little about Miss Dunworthy that wasn’t practical. If he hadn’t memorized the list of everyone listed in BUR records during his first week of employment he might have even believed her to be a preternatural, for all her sensible ways. However, Lady Macoon was the only preternatural on record in Great Britain. He had only met Lady Macoon once when business had brought him to London, but had taken an immediate liking to her and regretted that Miss Dunworthy had been unable to accompany him on the trip. He imagined the two would have gotten on splendidly, and not just because they shared both a pragmatic personality and a complexion slightly darker than fashionable. 

“It depends on what you mean by ‘planned’. Our ghostly friend has passed on,” Roger rubbed vigorously at his hair in emphasis, “but nothing about this operation adds up. Check the records if you would, find out when this case was first reported in.” Pamela nodded and started pulling folders off the bookshelves. As she gathered materials Roger wiped off the last pieces of decayed flesh and took a pinch of snuff to try and clear the lingering scent from his nostrils.  

“We’ll need put together a timeline and see if we can identify the poor bloke.” Roger continued.  “When we finally pieced together the body we could hardly tell anything other than our ghost is probably middle aged and probably male.” 

“Pieced it together?” Pamela stopped piling papers on the desk in shock. “Why was the body in pieces?” 

“We'll need to figure that out too. We had difficulty locating the body. There didn’t seem to be any centralization to the decay; instead of parts floating towards the source they were floating away. Bring that map over, would you?”  

He spread the city map across the desk, haphazardly piling papers and reports on the chair and floor and scooping up a handful of small loose objects to make room. “We found his eyebrow floating by the sweets shop on Montpelier Road,” He pointed to the map and dropped a button onto the street, “and a hand and foot pair making their way along a path in the Brunswick Square.” Those became a cufflink and a stale peanut in the middle of the park. Roger absently popped another peanut into his mouth, barely noticing the waxy texture as he focused on recalling the details of the operation. He dropped a few more oddments on the map to pinpoint the other spectral body parts encountered. 

“The largest part we found heading towards the... less savory end of the Arches." This last piece became a half penny sitting near the water. Miss Dunworthy chuckled softly. 

“Half penny, good choice. I knew there was a sense of humor in there somewhere, Mr. Stonewall.” 

“I thought it was rather fitting.” 

"Well if this ghost was like most other ghosts we’ve found, I’m presuming the largest part was closest to the body.” Pamela went back to the bookshelves pulled a few folders down. She flipped through the ledgers briefly, then pulled a paper from a file labeled Quantifiable Spectral Encounters. “Here’s an article from the Royal Society speculating that once a ghost reaches poltergeist stage the most substantial parts remain tethered closely to that which provided the excess of soul - the feet of a dancer, the hand of a sculptor, and so forth. If this is true, we might be able to pinpoint a profession which may help us to identify the poor thing. What was the part?” 

Roger cleared his throat. "His....lower torso. Navel to thigh." 

"Oh dear, how indelicate! Well, I suppose we know what kind of man our ghost was, if his spirit was still attempting to reach the wharves. An artist of carnal relations, my goodness!” Miss Dunworthy’s face blushed a dark rose and she fanned herself wildly, staving off vapors. 

“Miss Dunworthy!” Roger rose to come to her side. Her forthright observation was both impressive and appalling. She waved him off and steadied herself. 

“No, thank you, I shall be quite fine. I may be an unmarried spinster, Mr. Stonewall, but I am certainly not naive in the ways men find to entertain themselves." She looked at the map again, and with a coy smile flipped the coin to tails.  

“Why Miss Dunworthy, how shocking!” His eyes twinkled with amusement. She blushed again in acknowledgement and turned back to the map. 

“You said you had difficulty finding the body, but clearly you succeeded given your choice of accessories earlier this evening.” 

“Ectoplasmic decay does not accessorize well with any outfit. Yes, we found the body over here, in a house near St Stephen’s. Luckily the moon-madness hasn't set in with Crawford yet and we were able to get his help sniffing it out.” 

“And it was in more than one piece?” 

“Yes. The parts were close together but still separated, like he had died by being pulled in multiple directions at once. Absolutely barbaric.” He wiped his face as if to scrub the image from his memory. “Now that the ghost is at rest, we should see if we can identify him. Since his state was never reported until the death wails started two nights ago, we must presume that either he has no next of kin or the family was unaware of his death. Standard rate of decay is approximately one year, factor increased air moisture from the ocean and let's begin our search at around eight or nine months?" 

"Very good, sir. Were you planning on starting the report for tonight's operation now, or were you going to wait until more information has come to light?" 

“Let's see if we can find out anything more before the night is out. I haven’t heard any other reports come in regarding unusual deaths so I’m not sure if this was a unique circumstance or if we stumbled on to something bigger. Either way, I shall have to write and file a report informing the constabulary.”  

Miss Dunworthy shook her head. “Mr. Pembleton was with you tonight, wasn’t he sir? Have him do the paperwork, there are other things that need your attention while I research our strange ghost.” 

“And here I was looking forward to some relaxing paperwork to end my evening.” 

Pamela ignored his sarcasm with a pointed look and started ticking off on her fingers. “You still have approve current claviger and drone applications, the Rottingdean Pack has filed for assistance regarding city zoning permits because they wish to expand their transformation chambers, the Brighton Biophysical Analysis Association is renewing their request for volunteers seeking claviger and drone status to submit to soul testing, Mr. Creswell’s claims that a wolf loner vandalized his shop needs to be investigated….” 

“Oh yes, of course. Those things.” Roger sighed and held out his hand. “Very well. Give me the files, tell Pembleton to start on the exorcism report while you go figure out who our mystery ghost is.” 

“Very good, Mr. Stonewall.” Miss Dunworthy placed what he felt was an obscenely large stack of papers into his outstretched hands before collecting her own files and retreating to the back office. He tried to ignore the smirk he was certain she was hiding. 

Roger let the hustle and bustle of the office fade out of his attention, ignoring the stomp of feet and slamming of doors as agents came and went on their tasks. He could smell something cooking in the kitchen despite being well past supper, but that was hardly unusual providing most of the staff kept night hours. He considered going to investigate as a way to avoid the piles Miss Dunworthy had left stacked on his desk, but acknowledged that the distraction would merely delay the inevitable and it was important to maintain efficiency. 

He began organizing the files, placing the tasks that required formal or delicate interactions with the public on the bottom of the pile. Roger was an eloquent spokesman for BUR and was skilled at smoothing over disagreements and misunderstandings between the daytime folk and the supernaturals, but these interactions had to be precisely coordinated and took time.  

Not all who applied to be a vampire drone or a werewolf claviger were bidding for metamorphosis. Only those with enough excess soul would survive the transformation, and there was still no established way of measuring the amount of soul a person possessed prior to the bite. Not everyone was willing to take that risk. In fact, most seeking a position in a supernatural household were simply looking for security. After all, vampires and werewolves had been around for centuries and most had accumulated a generous cushion of wealth during that time. 

The application process was a formality. Packs and Hives made their own decisions regarding who they would take as a drone or claviger and they didn’t always want it known who was working for them. BUR processed the information of any known drone or claviger and their connecting hive or pack as a precaution. If anything were to go wrong, a well documented paper trail was always useful in an investigation. 

It took him a while before he noticed the young man standing awkwardly in the office door frame. Once noticed, it took a few moments more before recognition kicked in. Jonathan Banes was a lanky youth with dark curly hair, overly large forehead and an excess of freckles. He had been working at the office for nearly two years, but so excelled at being quiet and unobtrusive that Roger often forgot that he worked there.  

Mr. Banes had been hired for his working knowledge of modern mechanics, not for his social skills, and had been transferred to the Brighton chapter when the aethographor had been installed. The machine resided in the attic as close to the aether stream as it could get in a heavily insulated room designed to keep out as much noise as possible. The aethographic workings required silence and stillness when operational, and Jonathan was a master at doing both for extended periods of time. He had even moved his cot to the room just outside the transmission chamber and took all his meals at his attic workbench while he fiddled with the delicate instruments and crystals. 

Now however, Mr. Banes appeared quite agitated and decidedly obtrusive.  In his hand he clutched a thin sheet of metal that had been carefully etched through: a message. 

“Banes, what on earth is the matter? You never come downstairs. You look ill, has someone died?” 

Mr. Banes swallowed loudly and stepped into the room. "Mr. Stonewall sir, we just received an aethographor message from London. Seems Chelsea Hive had a metamorphosis two months ago." 

Roger frowned. "That hardly seems urgent enough to use the aethographor, unless the drone in question had political ties. Do we know who it was?" 

"Sorry sir. Didn't say, sir." 

"Was the metamorphosis successful? Are we to send congratulations or condolences?" Roger prompted. Jonathan looked panicked. 

“I’m not certain, sir?” Banes cleared his throat awkwardly. “The drone didn’t die, but...he became a werewolf, sir.” 

For a moment time froze and expanded. Roger felt like he had cotton in his ears as his brain tried to make sense of what was just said. Mr. Banes began to look increasingly uncomfortable as he was stared at. Roger found his voice again. 

“What?” He held out his hand and Mr. Banes handed over the transmission gratefully. His eyes flew over the carefully etched letters. Then he read it again. “That’s impossible. Does the Royal Society have any leads on this? Have they investigated the drone in question? How is the local pack reacting?” 

Jonathan winced under the barrage of questions and shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know, sir. This is all that was transmitted. I waited to see if anything else would come through, but there was no other information, just a mandate that all BUR agents immediately report any other strange happenings and question local supernaturals if they are aware of any similar occurrences elsewhere.” 

“And this happened two months ago? Why are we only hearing about this now?” 

“You know the supernatural set, sir. They don’t like anyone involved in their business, especially us, if it can be helped. Especially when their business has, uh, gone wrong.” Banes gave a halfway apologetic shrug. He was right, of course. If there was one thing thing that never ceased to frustrate Roger it was how uncooperative the supernatural were by nature. In some sense it was understandable. Vampires and werewolves had remained hidden from the public eye for centuries and were unused to working with anyone who was not supernatural, particularly the government. Still, it made Roger’s job that much harder when those he was supposed to serve did not want him around. 

It was then that Miss Dunworthy returned from the back office, papers in hand and a frown on her face. “I may have identified our mystery ghost. Patrick Thorne, at 32 Temple Street, age 38. He’s the only dead or missing person in the area that is both male and the right age. And he lived in the house where you found the body,” She looked up from the papers and chewed on her lip. “Only trouble is, he only died two weeks ago.” 

“That doesn’t fit. We didn’t find his body in a river, it was in the wine cellar. Pretty arid place, it couldn’t have decomposed so quickly.” Roger shook his head. “Even if Mr. Thorne lived at the address it doesn’t mean the body is his.” 

“Mr. Stonewall. I assure you I have gone through every possibility and this is the only one that fits, however unusual.” She put her papers on the desk in front of him and pointed. “There have only been 320 recorded deaths in the area within the past year. Of these only 170 of which were men.” She pointed the the light graphite circles in the ledger. “I narrowed it down by age, occupation and location, but nothing fit the descriptions you provided.” 

Roger’s frown deepened. The case of the mysterious poltergeist seemed to only be getting stranger. Miss Dunworthy put another ledger in front of him. “I sent William to get the documents of any recorded deaths within the past month and there was Mr. Patrick Thorne. He’s the only case that fits our profile. I’ve called for Formerly Huxton to confirm the research, but I’m right.” She shook her head. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” 

“Could it be an incident similar to the one in Chelsea?” Banes piped up timidly. Miss Dunworthy looked at him quizzically. 

“What happened in Chelsea?” 

“Fantastic.” Roger rolled his eyes skyward. “Interchanging supernaturals and infant poltergeists. This night gets better and better. Banes, fill Miss Dunworthy in on the details regarding Chelsea then go round up any available agents to start questioning any roves and loners in the area. I’ll start on more formal correspondence with the Southwick Hive and Rottingdean Pack. Miss Dunworthy, if you would please see if you can determine any additional information regarding Formerly Thorne?” The two agents nodded and headed towards the door. 

“Oh, and would someone see about making a fresh pot of tea?” Roger called after them. “It’s going to be a long night.” 

*** 

It had been nearly a week since the aethographic transmission had come through. Miss Dunworthy had successfully confirmed that the mysterious ghost was in fact one Formerly Thorne, despite his premature descent into geist form, and the incident had been reported to BUR Headquarters in London. Roger had spent most of the week attempting to investigate the two incidents, which meant that the everyday business had slowly accumulated to a disastrously high stack of papers on his desk that threatened to topple if he looked at it funny. This would be a more forgivable oversight in his department if he had found any leads regarding the two strange supernatural cases, but every lead ended in an overly uncooperative supernatural. So when an anonymous note was delivered to his house requesting a daylight meeting regarding his investigations at the Royal Pavilion Park, Roger armed himself with a sundowner gun and a kernel of hope. 

It was a particularly nice day with a warm and high sun and a fresh breeze from the ocean. The weather made the park a particularly popular destination, with ladies strolling arm in arm and gentlemen in carriages tipping their hats. The park had its share of workers as well, for a team of young men were scouting the northern green with funny looking instruments and taking copious amounts of notes in small ledgers in their pockets. It had been rumored that a dirigible company was considering adding its operations to the area in a similar manner to that in Hyde Park. It appeared that those rumors were coming to fruition. 

As Roger was unsure of whom he was taking this clandestine meeting with, he strolled slowly among the masses keeping a watchful eye for anyone that struck him as out of the ordinary. As it was daylight he ruled out any supernatural - only a strong Alpha werewolf could withstand direct sunlight for extended periods of time and even that would be difficult so soon after a full moon. A drone or a claviger, perhaps, and perhaps meeting with him against orders considering the time of the meeting and the general lack of help his investigation had received from the supernatural set.  

He began scanning the crowds for anyone who looked out of place or uncomfortable. He had dealt with enough questionable characters to know what a double-crosser looked like. He didn’t have to look for long. His contact found him first. 

“Mr. Stonewall, what a pleasure it is to finally meet.” The voice was sweet, melodious and warm. Roger turned to meet his contact and was surprised to see a face he recognized. 

The woman wore her golden hair in a pile of ringlets that cascaded artfully over her shoulder. She wore a colorful walking dress of in colors of marmalade and cucumber with rich velvet ribbons emphasising her dramatic silhouette. She held a lacy parasol in one gloved hand and extended the other in greeting. With a gentlemanly bow, he lightly kissed her knuckles. 

“Miss Delaney Auden, this is a surprise.” 

“Why Mr. Stonewall, I’m so pleased you know me! I did not imagine you to be a patron of the fine arts.” Miss Auden giggled lightly and dimpled with pleasure. 

“I do not often have the opportunity to visit the ballet, Miss Auden, but I did see your performance last year. Positively enchanting. Yours is a hard face to forget.”  

“You are too kind. Won’t you be so kind as to escort me along the promenade?” Miss Auden giggled again, a light tinkling sound, and extended her arm. He took her hand gently into his elbow and slowly they began to walk. He could feel her bustle swaying seductively next to him with each step. It was quite distracting. 

“You must forgive me if I am too forward, Miss Auden, but you are not the type of claviger I would have expected to meet me here today. Nor do you strike me as the type to go against your master or mistress, as I have the firm impression that what I presume we are here to discuss is not entirely discussable.” She tutted.  

“My dear Mr. Stonewall, you are quite mistaken. I am not a claviger.” She smiled up at him, her sapphire eyes twinkling in the dappled sunlight beneath her parasol. “It is true that werewolves tend to prefer those in the performance arts, but my mistress is drawn to grace in every form. Sculpture, painting, music, and of course, ballet.” she flicked a wrist towards herself in indication. 

“And while it is true that your investigation is not entirely appreciated within the supernatural community, I am hardly here against my mistress’s orders. I am in fact here on them. Meeting in daylight is for my mistress’s protection, not mine. Unless you plan on doing something I shall need protecting from.” She gave him a wicked smile. 

Roger cleared his throat at the blatant flirtation and thought about the first part of Miss Auden’s confession. The pieces started to fall into place. “She doesn’t want anyone else to know she’s being cooperative.” 

“Precisely. We had a feeling you were smart, which is why we reached out to you specifically instead of approaching through your office at BUR. We trust you to be discreet with where you received the information I have for you.” 

“And what exactly is that information?” Roger prompted. 

“La, Mr. Stonewall, so hasty!” she smacked his arm playfully. “We haven’t even gotten to know one another yet! Shall we rent a carriage? I think that sounds marvelous.” She sashayed across the green towards a waiting line of rentals, dragging Roger behind. 

“Please, Miss Auden!” he protested. “It would be most improper! You are a fine young lady and I wouldn’t see your reputation tarnished. You are unchaperoned, and a carriage ride would be far more scandalous than our current walk. It is far too secluded, at least on the promenade there are plenty of people.” 

She stopped halfway across the green and dropped his arm, eyeing him critically. “You are quite the honorable gentleman, to be looking out for my interests so. I’m pleased that my instincts about you were correct.” She gave a tiny sigh of disappointment. 

“I suppose you are right, a carriage ride would certainly not be safe for me. I mean here I am, unchaperoned, young and beautiful and rather famous around here, if I do say...taking a strange older gentleman on a remote carriage ride…” she batted her eyelashes sadly. “You’ve made your point quite clearly that you have no interest in spending time with me. Perhaps my mistress was wrong to put such faith in you.” With that, she turned away to leave. 

“You misunderstand me,” Roger objected. He could not let her walk away without getting any information. “It is not that I wouldn’t wish to spend time getting to know you. But consider if people saw us and our interaction made the society papers! The secrecy your mistress hopes to achieve through this meeting would be lost.” 

Delaney smiled at him sweetly. “You would like to spend time with me?” 

“Of course, Miss Auden,” he let out his breath. “As I said, you are a lovely young woman. I simply believe that this is not the appropriate setting for the conversation we will be having. I would be happy to continue our promenade, if that would please you.” He offered his arm again. She hesitated a moment, then with a smile slid neatly next to his side. 

“You know,” she mused, leaning close to his ear. “One of the benefits of being famous is that I am allowed a certain amount of eccentricity.” That said, she took a surprisingly firm grasp on his arm and resumed her march towards the rental carriages. His continued protests seemed to fall on deaf ears until they were settled comfortably across from each other on leather seats and trotting slowly towards the King’s Road. 

“Miss Auden, I must say I am appalled.” Stunning though the woman was, Roger began to wonder if she was entirely right in the head. “Your behaviour just now goes against all sense of propriety.” 

She offered him a show-stopping smile and spun her parasol lazily. “I hear your concerns, Mr. Stonewall, and please believe me when I say I understand the full weight of my actions. Please allow me to put some of your fears to rest. 

“You are quite right that this meeting is likely to make the papers, given my level of popularity in society and your prospects both as an upstanding agent of BUR and a bachelor. The carriage ride is important, because it gives those so inclined within the supernatural community an opportunity to discern the truth of this meeting.” She smiled secretively and pursed her lips. “At least, as much of the truth as my mistress is willing to tell.” 

“Forgive me, I don’t see how any of this addresses my concerns.” Roger shook his head, then tipped his hat to a couple of pedestrians who were staring as the carriage passed. He gave an internal groan. So far, it was shaping up exactly as he had feared. Everyone seemed to be looking at them. 

“It is not common knowledge that I serve the Southwick Hive,” Delaney admitted. “I am after all a woman, and female drones are so very few. Vicerene Breslow is a patroness to many of the arts in the area, which makes it easy to keep my status hidden. However, Collins here is familiar drone at Southwick.” She turned her stunning smile up at the driver, who nodded politely over his shoulder before turning his attention back to the road. 

“Anyone who is curious as to whether this meeting was business or pleasure will speak to the Vicerene, knowing that of course Collins was secretly listening to our conversation. She can assure them that this excursion was entirely for pleasure, while you and I in fact conduct business. Though truthfully, I don’t see why we can’t do a little of both.” To his shock, she winked at him. Roger was impressed despite himself. It was clear that quite a bit of planning had gone into making this meeting possible.  

“I understand. But Miss Auden, I don’t see how this clever plot of yours will salvage your reputation.”  

Here she blushed, a pretty rose color that was quite becoming. “That will be up to you, if you are willing. Truthfully I was quite pleased when you first protested our arrangement here. You showed yourself to be a thoughtful, considerate gentleman and you had my wellbeing in mind. I hope you will still feel that way when I have finished explaining. I knew that this meeting might put my reputation at risk. And if my reputation is at risk, so too might my career be. But if you and my mistress could work together without alerting the greater supernatural community, the risk was necessary. For this arrangement to work, I would become your regular liaison to the Vicerene, and you would become...my public suitor.” 

The carriage clattered along the cobblestones. Roger remained silent. Delaney’s parasol continued its lazy circles, though now he imagined there was a bit of nervousness in the movement of her fingers. The steady rush of waves along the beach and the cawing of gulls overhead offered a comfortable familiarity as he thought. Miss Auden, talkative as she had been, did not press him for a response. 

“I am not keen on this plot, Miss Auden.” He finally admitted. She would not meet his eye. “I am not a man to whom subterfuge comes easily.” 

“I can tell,” she murmured wistfully. “You are every inch an honest gentleman. I admire 

that.” 

“It’s not only that. Miss Auden, you are a lovely, surprising young woman. It is not my place to question your decision to become a drone or to serve the interests of the hive over your own.” He looked at her gently. “Still, I do not think it right to force you into any relationship that is not of your own choosing. You should have a suitor who truly cares for you, and who will offer you everything because he offers it to you, not to your hive.” 

“And you would not care for me?” she asked softly. 

“It is because I care for your well being that I say these things. You deserve someone better than me, for better reasons than this. I will continue my investigations without the Vicerene’s help.” They sat in uncomfortable silence a few minutes more before Delaney spoke again. 

“Please, Mr. Stonewall.” She took a deep breath, and he noticed the sheen of water in her eyes. “My mistress is frightened, and she is far from the only one. These things that are happening are unnatural. Other vampires, werewolves, ghosts….they believe that if they hide themselves away, the incidents will stop. They have been around for centuries, and do not react well to uninvited change. The Vicerene does not like hiding. She believes that a fresh look at the situation is vital to determining what is going on. That look must come from outside the community, because those within are blind to their own weaknesses. That is why she reached out to you when all others turned you away.” She bit her lip and reached out to take his hand. “Please. ” 

There was another long moment while he weighed his choices. Recalling how fruitless his efforts had been without the privileged information of the superantural, Roger pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. If she started crying, it would be entirely his fault. “Very well.” Miss Auden sniffled and gave him a watery smile. “What information do you have regarding the infant poltergeist and the metamorphosis in Chelsea?” 

Carefully Miss Auden stood and turned around in the carriage, repositioning herself to settle beside him. Thus situated, she linked her arm through his and leaned in close. “There is very ancient lore regarding an artifact said to be capable of altering the effects of the soul within vampires. How it works is unclear, and the effects of the stone vary from story to story. It is known as the Dawn Stone.” 

“Okay, that sounds like a good place to start.” he nodded slowly, taking mental note. “What else?” 

“That’s it, that’s all she knows.” 

Roger looked at her aghast. “That’s it? We’re about to start on an elaborate ruse in which I’m courting you for an extended period of time and that’s all the information you have to share?” 

“Well it’s more than you had before, isn’t it?” She retorted. “My mistress is in the process of speaking with the edict keepers to try and find out more. We thought you might start by speaking with the Royal Society about how a stone can affect the soul. Or you could make additional inquiries at BUR, and see if anyone else can find out information on this Dawn Stone. I don’t know, you’re the government agent. You should know what to do with the information!” 

Roger quelled the urge to roll his eyes. “Very well, I shall put the word out this evening and see what stones I can shake loose.”  

“Excellent. I will let my mistress know that you will be cooperating. And Mr. Stonewall,” she looked him fully in the eyes, and he suddenly found it hard to breathe. “ Thank you. Your help means a lot.” With a contented smile, she settled back into the seat cushions and pulled him back with her.  

“Now, let’s use the remainder of this ride to get to know one another better. I want to know all about the man who’s going to try and win my heart.” 

 


End file.
